THE INDIAN MIGS WERE TWENTY MILES BEHIND THE MEGA-fortress, and roughly ten behind Cantor. But rather than closing, the Indians were losing ground. Cantor waited for a minute or so; when the MiGs still didn’t make a move to catch up, he decided to ignore them for the time being. He hiked his speed up, then checked the sitrep to see how Mack was doing.
In the exercise Cantor had mentioned, the four-ship formation broke into two pairs. One group flew parallel but in the opposite direction to the course of its target, while the other continued at a right angle to it. The elements would then launch separate attacks from either the sides or, more often, the rear quarter.
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While there was no perfect solution, the best strategy for the Flighthawks was to avoid going too far from the Megafortress to take the first attack, even if you had a good opportunity to make a kill. Any defensive move by the fighters would leave the robot too far away to take the second element on.
Mack seemed to have avoided the first pitfall, and had gotten himself tangled up with one of the F-16s in the second group. Meanwhile, his wingman was angling to the north, trying for an end run.
Cantor pushed the throttle guide to max power, leaning forward as he tried to get into position to cut it off.
MACK PICKLED FLARES AND FLICKED THE FLIGHTHAWK TO THE
left, rolling out of the way of the American-built Sidewinder AIM-9s fired by the Pakistani fighter. As good as the Sidewinders were, they couldn’t resist the flare, which burned hotter than the Flighthawk’s masked engine heat. By the time the missiles exploded, Mack had leveled off and was looking for a way to get at his antagonist.
The Pak jock was still behind him, trying for another shot. Mack started a turn to the right, hoping to use his superior turning ability to throw the F-16 out in front of him.
Belatedly, he realized that the Viper’s real purpose was to keep him busy while his wingman went for the Wisconsin.
He was committed now; even if he turned back, he’d never catch the other airplane, which was flashing across the top corner of his screen.
“Hawk One to Wisconsin—I let one of those suckers get by.”
“I have him, Mack,” said Cantor, breaking in.
Mack was too busy dealing with the Viper behind him to ask how Cantor had managed to get into position to fight the PAF plane. Refusing to get into a turning battle with the Flighthawk, the F-16 fired another Sidewinder and swung back in the Wisconsin’s direction. Mack went for his flares again, rolling out and changing course in time to get a shot END GAME
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on the F-16’s tailpipe. But the Viper pilot managed to jerk out of the way, and Mack found himself too high and fast to fire again.
CANTOR SAW THE MISSILE FLARE UNDER THE F-16’S WING
just as he got the cue to fire from the computer. He laid into the Viper, signing his name in the left wing and tailplane.
The canopy flew off, and the pilot quickly followed, projected upward by the ACES II ejection seat—but not before another missile flew out toward the Megafortress three miles ahead.
“Missiles!” yelled Cantor. “Sidewinders! Watch it!”
“We’re on it,” replied Dog calmly.
Cantor felt the Megafortress jerk hard to the right. He saw the aircraft in his screen, a shower of flares erupting from her belly. The Wisconsin pushed hard to the left; Cantor saw the Sidewinder that had been fired at it explode about three-quarters of a mile beyond the plane, too far away to do any damage.
“Hawk One is clear,” said Mack.
“Two clear,” said Cantor. “Wisconsin, your tail is clean.”
“Thank you, Hawks One and Two.”
“Thanks for the assist, Cantor,” said Mack.
“You’re welcome.”
“That second element cut back quicker than I thought they would,” Mack said. “Better get Zen to change the programming on that simulation.”
Cantor smirked—but only to himself. “I will, Major.
Consider it done.”
Aboard the Abner Read , in the northern Arabian Sea
0540
STARSHIP SKIPPED THE WEREWOLF TOWARD THE TWO SUBmarines, which were moving at three or four knots north-
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ward. Stopping them without sinking them was going to be tricky, if not impossible. Obviously, the Hellfire was not the weapon to use—he switched to the light machine guns, which were locked to fire in line with the Werewolf’s nose.
The aiming cue showed he was high; he angled down accordingly and sent two rows of shells across the bow of the sub.
The vessel, continuing on, gave no sign that it was impressed. Starship let off on his trigger and flew toward the craft, buzzing within ten feet of its topside. He could see two men diving into the craft’s conning tower as he passed; they went in the side, as if it were a speedboat rather than a submarine. By the time he spun around it had started to dive under the water. It moved forward, gliding down a long, gentle escalator. Starship aimed for the tail of the sub this time, firing his bullets into the water directly behind the disappearing body. When that didn’t stop the boat, he fired a long burst at the rapidly disappearing conning tower.
Then he got another idea.
He switched over to the Hellfires and zeroed in on the water about fifty yards ahead of the submarine. Then he fired, hoping the missile would act something like a depth charge, damaging the submarine just enough to bring her back to the surface.
If the missile had any effect—if it even exploded—he couldn’t tell.
Starship turned his attention to the other submarine, which was just disappearing underwater. He laced it with bullets, pouring them into the shadow as it slid down below the waves.
“Both submarines are under the water,” he told Eyes. “I can’t see them anymore.”
“Stand by. We hope to have Piranha on line any minute now. Be alert for the approaching Megafortress.”
END GAME
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NSC Situation Room,
Washington, D.C.
1940, 14 January
(0540, 15 January, Karachi)
EVERYONE BUT JED JUMPED TO ATTENTION AS THE PRESIDENT
walked into the room.
“No, no,” said Kevin Martindale. “As you were. Keep working. Jed, what’s the situation?”
“We have alerts all across the board. India and Pakistan have fired on each other.” Jed pointed to a screen from a Pentagon launch alert system set up to summarize what the analysts blandly called “launch events.” As predicted, the Indians had reserved their longest range missiles, undoubtedly for use against China if she came to Pakistan’s defense.
“What’s the status of the E-bombs?”
“The Dreamland aircraft with the EEMWBs are on course,” said Jed, gently correcting the President as he pointed to the screen where End Game’s status was updated. “The plot here”—he toggled into a new window—“is from Dreamland Command and gives an approximate location of the bombers. It’s accurate to within a mile.”
“Good.”
Martindale folded his arms and surveyed the rest of the room. Jed had seen the President in many tense situations; always, he was calm and almost detached. But clearly he recognized the tension in the room.
“The technology down here is great,” said Martindale.
He winked at Jed. “But what we really need is a good coffee machine.”
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Aboard the Fisher ,
near Dw ¯arka Early Warning Platform 0543
DANNY CLICKED THE CONTROL FOR HIS SMART HELMET’S VIsor, selecting the image from the low-light camera in the Fisher’s nose. The wrecked platform was dead ahead.